


Alive

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” Porthos whispers, bumping his mouth against Aramis’ in the shallow breath of a kiss.  His voice is different now – not tight with arousal, with happiness.  It’s quiet, serious.  “I might not have much but – I’ve got you, yeah?” (Coda fic for 3x06)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, "TODAY WAS NOT MY DAY euphoric life-celebrating sex post-ep 06" 
> 
> Also, bottom Porthos because I say so.

“You’re alive,” is all Aramis manages to say before Porthos pushes him hard up against the wall and kisses him. Aramis’ hands come back dusty when he sinks them into Porthos’ hair and drags them out again, bits of plaster stuck to his fingertips, dirt and dust. No blood, at least. 

He came so close to losing Porthos today. He came so close to being lost to Porthos, as well. He doesn’t mistake the way Porthos cradles the back of Aramis’ head, too, and kisses him like he’s never kissed him before. Soft but desperate, lingering but pushing for more. They both came close to dying today – Porthos through a falling building, Aramis through a king’s revenge. 

Aramis grasps tight to Porthos, curls one hand in his plaster-stiff hair, the other cupping the back of his neck – hanging on tight to him, feeling the thrum of Porthos’ pulse. They’re here. They’re alive. They’re together. 

“You’re alive,” Aramis says, softer this time – almost a sob. Relief, so much relief. If he’d lost him, if today would have been the last day—

“You too,” Porthos whispers, bites down hard at his lip – enough for the spark of pain, the reminder of breathing. Alive. They’re both alive. 

It’d be easy to fall apart like this – to worry, to shake down to his bones. Instead, he only feels lifted – the touch of Porthos’ hands at his ribs, then over his sides, cupping his hips. Slow and languid kisses. 

He can’t help it. He starts laughing – and then finds he can’t stop. It’s just as well. Porthos starts to laugh against his mouth, the curve of his smile. Delirious, blessed – they’re alive. Porthos is alive. Porthos is _here._

Aramis tugs him down closer, kisses him harder. Thank God. Thank God and everything that might rule this earth. Thank every power that might have ever been. Porthos is alive. Porthos is here. He’s alive to be here with Porthos. 

“Porthos,” he breathes out. And Porthos laughs into his mouth, kisses him deeper, slides his hips up so their cocks press together through their clothes and that—

They’re both already half-hard, fueled on by danger, by hardship, by love. Porthos is here. 

Aramis whines out, arches, curls his leg around Porthos’ so their hips can slot together. Porthos’ hands roam down over his hips, the backs of his thighs, his backside – drags him in closer. 

And because they are alive, because they are in love, because they are here together – Aramis drags Porthos towards the bed, sets him down, steps back and strips for him. 

Porthos, laughing, reaches for him – and Aramis slaps it away, waggling his eyebrows. “No, no.”

“Let me see you,” Porthos says, laughing around the tease in Aramis’ fingertips as he goes devastatingly slow. He swivels his hips away when Porthos reaches again, swatting at him half-heartedly. 

Aramis thinks he could keep lingering on the thought – they almost died today, the both of them – and yet all he can see, all he can focus on, is the breadth of Porthos’ smile, the slide of his eyes over Aramis’ body as he exposes it to him, the fumble of Porthos’ hands as he strips himself down, too. He could focus on it, be consumed by, the fear of what might come tomorrow, or the day after, or the next day – how many times they might lose each other, how many times in the past they might have lost each other—

But then there’s Porthos’ smile – a quiet wonderment seeing Aramis naked, as if he’s never seen it before – and then there’s Porthos’ body, warm and scarred and undeniably breathing and _alive._

And why shouldn’t he focus on that? 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aramis says, eyes dragging over the arch of his neck, the gasp of his chest, the curve of his cock. His thighs, his forearms, his toes – everything about him. Beautiful. It isn’t the first time he’s said it – but it’s been so long since he did, too long, he scolds himself. It’s been long enough that he doesn’t think his voice has never sounded so prayer-like before. 

Porthos, of course, as he always does – blushes. And laughs – quiet and uncertain, but warm. He reaches out to Aramis, and this time Aramis comes to him. He ducks his head, lets Porthos arch up from where he sits on the bed and kisses him – slow and small and loving. They’re alive. He’ll kiss Porthos for the rest of his life – he’ll make sure of that. 

Porthos hums as they kiss, a small sound easily missed, but it slides through Aramis’ body like an electric shock. His hands on Porthos’ shoulders, he feels Porthos shift forward, the slide of his hands over his backside, the top of his thighs – pulling him in close. Aramis slides his hands up, touches his shoulders, the slope of his neck, the stubble at Porthos’ jaw line. Porthos holds him with a gentleness that Aramis hardly thinks he deserves, most days – everything about Porthos, too gentle. 

“How should we do this?” Porthos asks, one hand shifting closer towards Aramis’ cock. 

There are so many things Aramis wants – thinks, deliriously, that there is time, there is time for everything now – and then kisses Porthos again and again. Asks, “Can I fuck you?” 

Whatever it is that Porthos expected to hear, this likely wasn’t it – the kiss stills, and though Porthos is still smiling when he draws back, he’s lifting an eyebrow at him. 

“You want to fuck me?” he asks. 

“Is that alright?” Aramis asks, playing with a curl near Porthos’ ear, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” Porthos tells him, no hesitation. He laughs, slightly nervous. “Just been a while.” 

Porthos lets Aramis push him back onto the bed, climb up after him – press down against him. Naked cock against cock, and Porthos groans, rocks his hips up. Aramis shudders, stretches out across Porthos and kisses him long and slow, runs his hands over him. If he wanted, they could come just from this – rocking against each other sloppily. It wouldn’t be the first time – it’ll hardly be the last time. 

But he needs the feeling – Porthos alive, moving under him. The touch of his hands. His body curled around his. Moving inside of him. They’re alive. 

Aramis spreads Porthos’ legs, settles between them – runs his hands along the smooth skin of Porthos’ inner thighs, one of the few places left on him unscarred. He’s soft beneath his hands – so much of Porthos is soft despite appearances, gentle and warm. Porthos hums out, squirms once when Aramis’ touch is too light and it tickles. Aramis kisses him, draws Porthos closer, runs his fingers over him. 

It’s a simple matter of finding the oil, slicking Aramis’ fingers up, pressing up against Porthos. He moves slow, slower than Porthos treats even him. It has been a while – too long, far too long – since he’s fucked Porthos like this. Porthos stays still and relaxed beneath him, spreading his legs, arching his hips, hissing breath out through his nose when Aramis moves too sharply. His body gives so slowly, but it’s worth it and Aramis eases his fingers into him, spreads him, prepares him. Porthos requires patience, but he’s worth it – and they have time, they have all the time in the world—

In this, Aramis does not have to doubt. In this, he knows Porthos gives to him freely, always comes to him freely. Like this, there is no room to doubt – that they are together, that they love each other, that Porthos’ hands will always reach for him. They’re here. They’re together. They’re alive. 

Fingers inside of him, Porthos shifts, closes his eyes, arches. “Yeah,” he breathes out, his body relaxing beneath Aramis. “Yeah, that’s good.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aramis tells him again – because he can, because he has these chances. 

Porthos snorts out a laugh, cheeks flushed, and he opens his eyes to grin at him. “Shut up.” 

“Mmm,” Aramis hums, twists his fingers so Porthos will gasp. “Make me.” 

Porthos wrinkles his nose at him once he comes down from the moan Aramis’ fingers elicited from him. He laughs a moment later – bright and warm. A third finger inside of him and Porthos is reaching for him – dragging him down. Aramis waits, slow, waits for Porthos to adjust, to pull Aramis’ hand closer. 

When Porthos gives a small nod, Aramis fucks his fingers into Porthos – places his other hand on the swell of Porthos’ stomach, the slide of his cock. But Porthos’ fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him away. 

“Want to last,” he explains before Aramis can question it. Kisses the inside of Aramis’ wrist in apology. Aramis cups Porthos’ cheek and kisses him, twists his hand inside of him, keeps the pace up until Porthos is moaning and panting against him. 

“Are you ready?” Aramis asks in a murmur, waits for Porthos to nod his head. 

He takes his hand out – slow, so slow – and slicks himself up, stroking his cock in an obscene show he knows will make Porthos laugh. And he does, letting his head tip back against the pillow and waggling his eyebrows at him, kicking lightly at Aramis’ hip just because he can. And even his toes are cute, the way they curl when Aramis reaches out with the excess oil and slicks up Porthos’ cock. 

He studies Porthos’ face carefully as he presses up to him. Strokes oil over his cock one last time, then presses his fingers against Porthos – preparation, warning. Porthos studies his face back, smiling absently, and nods his head. Waiting, willing. Aramis shuffles closer between Porthos’ open legs, spreads them more to get the angle right. Porthos lets out a shuddering breath, his eyelids flickering before he decides not to let his eyes close – and looks at Aramis. They don’t break eye contact as Aramis shifts his hips forward. 

He presses in, just the head of his cock. Porthos’ jaw clenches and he forces himself to relax. When Aramis actually breaks his eyes away from his face, he sees the way Porthos shakes, the way his hands fist in the sheets beneath them. 

“Do you need me to stop?” he asks, body taut. 

“Just been a while,” Porthos reminds him, shaking his head. “I’m good. It’s alright.” 

Aramis wavers, though, hesitates. But Porthos smiles at him, snorting out. 

“Come on,” he tells him. “I can handle you.”

Aramis snorts out a small laugh, chuffing, and leans forward more, curls his hips forward – slides into Porthos. Porthos breathes out, hands relaxing, arching his back. Porthos shifts, wraps his legs around Aramis’ waist – pulls him in closer. 

“Hey,” he tells him when Aramis is close enough for them to share the same breath. He grins at Aramis and up close like this, Aramis can see the sweat clinging to Porthos’ brow. His expression is warm, gentle. He tells Aramis, “You look good.”

And Aramis laughs out, leans forward to nuzzle his nose to his. It’s obscenely ridiculous but the day calls for it – they’re here, after all. They’re together. Porthos laughs and returns the gesture, his legs tightening around his hips. 

Porthos is hot and tight, the slide in is slow and even – liberal use of the oil, more than Porthos typically uses on Aramis, but necessary here. Porthos moans out, grabs at Aramis to guide his shallow thrusts, pulling him in deeper each time. It feels like an eternity before Aramis is pressed to the root, and pressed down against Porthos. 

They stay still like that as Porthos adjusts, taking in heaving, swallowing gasps. Aramis kisses over his face, nuzzles against his temple, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice if he needs to. It’s been so long. Every inch of his body feels like it’s on fire, wanting to thrust into him. Waiting. 

He’s so focused on that, so focused in on Porthos’ body, that he almost misses the shift in his expression. Porthos’ hand reaches up, curls into Aramis’ hair, tugs him back to look at his face. Aramis blinks at him. 

“Hey,” Porthos whispers, bumping his mouth against Aramis’ in the shallow breath of a kiss. His voice is different now – not tight with arousal, with happiness. It’s quiet, serious. “I might not have much but – I’ve got you, yeah?”

It is the first time Porthos doesn’t sound happy and Aramis pauses – draws back to look at him. Porthos studies him, cautious and hopeful. 

Aramis touches his cheek, runs his thumb over his cheekbone. “You have me. Forever.” 

Porthos nods and looks down. 

Aramis fans his thumb over Porthos’ lip. “And not just me. Our friends, Treville. Everyone you’ve ever known… You have so much, Porthos.”

Porthos laughs, and it touches his eyes as he shakes his head. “Don’t talk about them when you’re fucking me.” 

Aramis laughs too and rocks forward, laughs as Porthos squirms, arches—

Aramis takes up Porthos’ hands, threads their fingers together, and plants them up over Porthos’ head – leaning in to kiss him, slow and gentle. “You have me,” he whispers. “You’ll always have me.” 

“Yeah,” Porthos breathes out, and seems to relax beneath him as Aramis fucks into him, gentle. “You have me, too.” 

“I know,” Aramis answers. And does know. Even after all this – even after everything – he couldn’t doubt that now. He hopes he never does again. 

Aramis pulls back and then pushes forward again in slow, patient strokes. If he goes any faster, it’d be over too quickly, and he wants this to last. He squeezes Porthos’ hands and Porthos squeezes back. 

“Have I mentioned yet you’re beautiful?”

Porthos laughs and gently headbutts against Aramis. “Once or twice.”

And just like that, it’s easy to laugh again. They’re breathless, shivering messes – but they’re happy and they have each other. And once he starts laughing, Porthos can’t help but join in. And if Porthos is laughing, Aramis can’t help but laugh, too. They fuck like that, giggling messes, foreheads pressed together, fingers curled together, fucking against one another. The way Porthos _looks_ at him, like he’s everything he could ever want in this world—

Aramis sinks inside him slowly, pulls back even slower. Takes his time. Savors this moment. Giggles when Porthos grunts. Laughs when Porthos laughs. Keens out when Porthos squeezes his legs around his waist. Porthos’ body gives incrementally, enough with each thrust that Aramis can move faster, surer, deeper—

They move together, as if the years have never passed between them, as if there isn’t plaster stuck still in Porthos’ hair, as if the noose doesn’t loom behind Aramis even now. They’re alive. They’re alive and they have each other—

Nothing can take that away from them. 

“I’m close,” Aramis warns, his thrusts losing their steady pace and moving faster. 

Porthos nods, smiles at him and pants out. “Yeah, yeah. Come on.” 

Aramis hardly needs the encouragement, fucks harder into Porthos until he’s spilling inside him, filling him. He groans, ducks his head to nuzzle sloppily against Porthos’ neck and then kiss him desperately. It’s hard to breathe. He feels overwarm, but in the best way possible. Porthos groans and kisses him with a quiet curse. 

“Forgot what that felt like,” Porthos mutters against his mouth, then bites down hard at his lip. 

Aramis is loathed to let go of Porthos’ hand, but does so enough to squeeze his hand between them and stroke Porthos’ off. He’s so hard, body so taut, that it hardly takes a few strokes before Porthos is spilling over his hand. 

They’re shivering, shuddering messes by the end of it. Aramis’ hair must be stuck in odd places and in odd directions before Porthos gives him one once-over and then just starts laughing, heaving, belly laughs. Aramis flops down against him, body sticky and sweaty and messy – and laughs out, too. He can’t be anything but happy, like this.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
